


Down the Rabbit Hole

by Marks



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-10
Updated: 2008-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan turns down something he wants and ends up in a world where Jon was never hired, Brent was never fired, and Panic! broke up. Now it's up to Ryan to fix things, even if he's not totally sure what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the mods for being accommodating to my schedule, to stealstheashes for betaing, to barnacling and drunktuesdays for hand-holding, to saturnalia for the wonderful fanmix, and for anyone anywhere that even once listened to my nervous hand-wringing. Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.

"We're Panic at the Disco, and you've been a beautiful audience. Thank you and good night!"

Ryan looped his arm around Jon's neck, dragging him away from the microphone and off-stage, dipping a little as Brendon pushed down on his shoulders every time he jumped up. Post-show adrenaline was pretty much the best thing about touring, the thrumming beat of Ryan's heart as quick and steady as anything Spencer produced with his kit.

"What are we doing tonight?" Spencer asked, low and into Ryan's ear, suddenly at his side like always.

"Getting drunk and getting laid!" Brendon pushed off of Ryan's shoulders and jumped into his path, pumping a hopeful fist into the air to punctuate his statement.

Jon laughed and tugged Brendon away from Ryan, hooking their arms together.

"You wish," Ryan called after them.

"Fuck yeah I do," Brendon called back. Then he and Jon both looked over their shoulders and winked. Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Come on," Spencer said and led Ryan away.

*

The drunk part was easy enough once Zack-approved signing shenanigans wrapped up and the equipment was packed away. One of the fangirls had passed Brendon a bottle in a silver foil bag done up with a pretty bow, a belated birthday gift that turned out to be a fifth of expensive vodka that actually passed whatever rigorous quality control tests Zack did to packages from fans. They added that to half a case of beer leftover from two nights earlier and Jon's bottle of Jack that still had eight or nine good shots left in it. Ryan graciously donated the ounce of weed that he had in a plastic baggie under his mattress. It was really good stuff and he'd been saving it for a special occasion. He wasn't sure why tonight qualified, but it did.

 _Some Kind of Monster_ was playing on the TV, but the volume was down low and Ryan wasn't really paying attention, lazily passing a joint from Jon to Brendon, then the vodka the other way. He could recite every line from memory anyway.

"Should we get, like, shot glasses or something?" Spencer asked, tilting his head back onto Ryan's knee to look upside down at the three of them on the couch. His voice sounded hazy and faraway, like someone had smeared Vaseline all along the edges of Ryan's mind. Kind of late for Spencer to be considering that now; the vodka bottle was approaching that half-empty, half-full place that divided the pessimists from the optimists.

"I don't mind sharing with you guys," Jon said, handing the bottle down to Spencer. Spencer didn't move his head as he tilted the bottle back, and then held the bottle up for Ryan to take.

Brendon put his head on Ryan's shoulder. "Yeah," he agreed. "The band that backwashes together stays together."

"Is that a fact?" Ryan asked and smiled a little. Jon chuckled, warm and low.

"Science has proven it, Ross," Brendon said. "Lots and lots and lots of studies have been done." He slumped further, and Ryan wondered if he was already falling asleep. Lightweight.

Jon and Spencer both poked Brendon at the same time to wake him up again. Ryan wondered if they were all sharing a collective brain and laughed at the thought.

"Not funny," Brendon said, and toppled over onto Ryan's lap. This normally would have been fine, but Ryan had been mid-gulp. He managed not to knock the bottle into his teeth because _ow_ , but he got jostled enough that some of the vodka splashed out onto his neck.

"Oh, that sucks, dude," Jon observed mildly. Then he took the bottle from Ryan and licked his neck.

Wait, what?

Ryan swallowed and looked at Jon, suddenly wide-eyed and wide awake. Jon was looking back, and there was something in that look that made Ryan warm all over. Then Jon leaned in and did it again.

Uh.

Ryan blinked and tried to make himself remember that Brendon's head was in his lap because his body wanted to do something really embarrassing and inconvenient right then and he couldn't let that happen. And that was putting aside the fact that his body shouldn't want to do that at all, with or without Brendon there, but oh shit, Brendon was _right there_. It was really weird that Brendon wasn't making fun of them both already. Ryan hoped that Brendon had fallen asleep already and chanced a look down.

Brendon definitely wasn't asleep; Brendon and Spencer were both watching Ryan and Jon closely. Ryan exhaled. Brendon made a tiny little noise at that, just a quick inhalation that matched Ryan's breath. Spencer said, "So, we're really doing this?" He bit his lip and looked a little anxious. Ryan caught himself watching Spencer's mouth.

It was Jon that answered, just a quick nod. He was close enough to Ryan that his beard rubbed rough against Ryan's jaw and Ryan had to keep repeating to himself that Brendon was in his lap, Brendon was in his lap, Brendon was _still_ in his lap. "Finally," Jon breathed, his breath cool against the spot on Ryan's throat where Jon's tongue had been a moment earlier.

"Oh. Wow. Oh, God," Brendon said, his voice dawning realization, and he sounded... well, not just like stupid, hyperactive Brendon. He sounded _reverent_. And adorable. That was a problem.

Ryan was confused. No one else seemed to be and that was even more confusing, and it was _even more_ even more confusing to see Brendon turn his head toward Spencer, and watch their mouths meet as Spencer's hand crawled up Ryan's leg. Ryan groaned and then Jon was right there, his dumb, starting everything confusing tongue swiping across Ryan's bottom lip.

"Is this okay?" Jon asked without moving away. Ryan struggled to let his brain catch up with everyone else and failed.

"What's going on?" Ryan managed to choke out. He sounded small and confused and every other awful thing he thought he wasn't anymore.

Spencer made an impatient noise, and even though Ryan was unsure about what he'd find, he looked down again. Spencer and Brendon weren't kissing anymore, but their mouths were wet and really red even in the dim lounge light. Ryan couldn't stop staring.

"Damn it, Ryan," Spencer said, but he didn't sound angry. It was the same tone he used when Spencer found Ryan dressing Hobo up in winter hats and sweaters, not the one that he used when Ryan admitted he hadn't paid his electric bill in three months. "I've been waiting forever for this." He wrapped his fingers around Ryan's wrist and pulled, kissing Ryan's fingertips. " _Years_. Please don't ruin it."

"But I don't get it," Ryan said, the last word out of his mouth breaking as Spencer sucked Ryan's index finger into his mouth.

"Of course you get it," Jon said easily. "Us. Isn't it obvious?"

No. None of this was obvious, how the hell could any of them think that? Ryan shook his head, trying to clear away the remnants of his drug-and-alcohol-induced fog. This was-- okay, Ryan _did_ know what was happening, had played it out in his head nearly every day since last summer, just silly little fantasies that ended up turning into half of the songs on their album. But that wasn't supposed to become reality. Brendon wasn't supposed to be sitting up to exchange kisses with Jon an inch from Ryan's head, and Brendon wasn't supposed to break away from those so he could mumble "Please" against Ryan's ear. "I want... I've wanted... it's been forever."

Ryan had never heard Brendon sound like that, so desperate and quiet and unsure, like he'd been waiting for God-only-knew how long just for Ryan to give the okay. Just like Spencer, apparently. Just like Jon.

Brendon didn't wait for an answer before pressing his mouth to Ryan's. Ryan's eyes fluttered shut and he opened his mouth instantly. He flexed the hand that Spencer wasn't licking against his own thigh because his palm itched with the need to touch, to be touched, and he wasn't sure what to do about that.

He wanted this, he did, but it couldn't-- _they_ couldn't-- it would-- Ryan broke away to say so, but found Spencer right there, kneeling in front of him.

"Best for last," Spencer said. Ryan expected him to smirk, but his face was serious and his eyes were intense. Instead he just cupped Ryan's jaw, his knuckles bumping against Brendon's cheek and tilted Ryan's face up to kiss him as if it were the easiest and most natural thing in the world. Next to Ryan, Jon sucked in an audible breath when Spencer licked his way into Ryan's mouth and then Jon's mouth was hot against Ryan's throat again. Ryan could feel a hand -- Brendon's? -- creeping up his thigh. He nearly arched off the lounge couch when whoever it was rubbed a palm against the front of his pants.

Oh fuck, Ryan thought.

"Oh fuck," he groaned, breaking away from yet another kiss.

"God, _please_ ," Brendon said, and it _was_ his hand stroking Ryan.

Ryan struggled to leap up, chemically-induced sluggishness, pheromone-induced confusion, and three bodies making it really difficult. He still managed, though, pushing down a thread of regret as soon as he did.

Spencer fell forward into the space Ryan's body had once occupied. He quickly twisted around and stared at Ryan, and the betrayed look on his face made Ryan feel like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Ryan?"

"I can't," Ryan said, his face going embarrassingly hot. He had to turn around because he couldn't _look_ at them when he said this, not knowing how much he wanted this, them. "Think about what everyone would say, and what if it doesn't work out? I can't let the band get ruined. It's the best thing that ever happened to me." His voice cracked again, but it was less about want than need this time.

"This has been happening for a long time," Jon said. "Almost as long as..."

"As long as Jon's been here," Brendon finished. "It won't hurt anything. It _can't_. It's us. Please, Ryan."

"Since when have you cared about what other people have thought about us?" Spencer asked accusingly. "We do whatever the fuck we want."

Ryan didn't answer because he knew his real answer to that. He just hunched his shoulders and silently headed back toward the bunks, half hoping-not-hoping that someone would follow.

"We can't do this without you," Jon called after him, Brendon adding a surprisingly forceful " _won't_." Spencer didn't say anything more.

Ryan climbed into his bunk and pulled the covers over his head. He thought about locking himself into the back lounge, but he might run into someone else and he just _couldn't_. Not right then. So he pulled the curtain in his bunk tightly shut, and tried to calm down.

His body thrummed with the same need that washed over him every time they came off stage, but now with the added bonus of being so fucking turned on that it hurt in more than one way. Ryan refused to do anything about it though because as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, he knew his thoughts would be filled with Spencer or Brendon or Jon. Spencer _and_ Brendon _and_ Jon. God. What the fuck?

Instead of jerking off like he desperately wanted or running back into the lounge like he wanted to even more desperately, Ryan rolled onto his back and tried to remember to breathe. He listened for noises from any of the others, but only heard the DVD playing on low volume. Maybe they were having a really quiet threesome. That thought felt kind of like Ryan had been stabbed in the heart. He ignored it, then dismissed it altogether. They wouldn't, he felt sure of that.

A little while later, someone pulled back the curtain of Ryan's bunk and sat down. Ryan shut his eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep.

"You know that we'll probably wait for you as long as you need." Jon.

Ryan sighed a little, turning onto his side so it would look like it happened in sleep. "You guys are the best thing that's ever happened to me," Jon said. He wasn't bothering to lower his voice, but it was still his usual mellow tone. Ryan didn't understand how he could sound so _sure_. "I'm not saying I wouldn't be happy if I weren't here. Maybe I'd be back in school or teching, but you guys are what I always wanted. I wanted a _band_ , and I got you three and that's so much more. This isn't fake, Ryan, and I hope you're only pretending to sleep because you need to hear this."

Ryan stayed stubbornly facing the bunk wall, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from replying. It wasn't that he didn't love them; Ryan hoped that none of them ever got that impression. But he needed them and couldn't do anything to upset that, even if he wanted to, even if he broke his own heart in the process. His fingers curled in his blanket, clutching hard until Jon brushed Ryan's hair off of his forehead and slid out of his bunk.

Brendon came to bed next, not even bothering with pretense by climbing right in and curling up around Ryan, spooning around him, one arm draped over Ryan's chest. Damn it, there was no way Brendon missed the way Ryan's heart rate had sped up at that.

"It's all right," Brendon told him, his breath sweet and warm against the back of Ryan's neck. "I've waited all this time; I can hold out longer. Do you even realize how long it's been for me?" He tapped out a rhythm on Ryan's chest, something not quite on beat with Ryan's heart but complementing it. "It's not like I haven't tried to ignore it; you've met every person I've slept with, so you _know_! But you should also know that once I figured stuff out with me, I always hoped that you -- that you _all_ \-- would be right there with me. I know it's scary. You think I'm not scared? I am."

Ryan almost shifted back at that, almost turned his head around to catch Brendon's mouth again. He couldn't help wondering what it would be like to bite Brendon's lips swollen, to leave marks up and down his throat, but he didn't move, just let out a breath in a slow, steady exhale.

"Stupid Ryan," Brendon finally sighed. He pressed a kiss against the back of Ryan's neck, sending a shiver all the way down Ryan's spine. "You'll work it out. I know it. Even if it takes a magician or a pair of ruby slippers." He chuckled and rolled out of Ryan's bed, the loss of warmth disappointing against Ryan's back.

Finally was Spencer, of course, and Ryan could tell he was exasperated before he even got sat down at the edge of Ryan's bed. By this point, Ryan thought there was a good chance that he'd never sleep again.

"You're so stupid," Spencer said. "Don't you remember how fucked up we were before Jon was with us? All of us trying to ignore that Brent wasn't working, how there was no one but me to break up the petty arguments you and Brendon have all the time? Can you imagine what would have happened if he'd never joined the band? Where would the band be; where would _we_ be? And that's not even mentioning all of the heavy drug use he encourages." Spencer poked Ryan's ankle and laughed, and Ryan pictured his pretty smile, vivid as a photograph behind Ryan's eyelids. "I'm never going anywhere, don't you even fucking think that I could, but it's about time you acknowledged that there's something else going on here. Don't be an asshole, asshole."

Spencer pulled up Ryan's loose hand and started to do the secret handshake they'd made up when they were eleven. It took every ounce of everything Ryan had not to curl his fingers in answer, but he managed. Spencer kissed his cheek before going away.

Ryan rolled onto his back again and stared at the wooden slats of Jon's bunk above him. Of course Jon was great for the band, and obviously he had to acknowledge there was something more going on than he'd previously let himself believe, but it was all so much. There was so much that could go wrong, so much that he could fuck up. It was a lot for anyone to accept.

Maybe he just needed to sleep and things would be clear in the morning. Ryan closed his eyes and forced himself to count until he was unconscious.

*

Somewhere an alarm was going off.

"Five more minutes," Ryan mumbled sleepily and reached out to slap at the snooze button. He heard a crash that probably meant the clock was on the floor, but the alarm stopped. Good enough.

Ryan rolled over and a beam of sunlight stabbed him in the eye. What the hell? True, the back lounge was designed for farmers getting up at the crack of dawn or something so he was used to that happening, but he also knew he'd fallen asleep in his bunk with the curtains pulled tightly shut.

...His bunk where the only alarms came in the form of Zack yanking all of his blankets away and yelling, "UP!" or Brendon bouncing on his stomach. Ryan sat up too fast then winced out of habit, anticipating thwacking his head against the wooden bottom of Jon's bunk. That never happened because he wasn't in his bunk; he was in a bed in a normal, non-mobile room. It wasn't even a hotel or anything, just a normal bedroom.

What the _hell_?

"Ryan, get your lazy ass out here and try this!"

Ryan blinked and let out a shaky sigh of relief. If Spencer was here, whatever it was couldn't be too bad. Maybe he had amnesia and didn't remember showing up at a house he'd never been in. He looked down and found himself wearing his old high school gym uniform. Not too weird as far as sleepwear went. Ryan stretched his hands out in front of him and thought they looked pretty normal, too, or at least as normal as his fingers ever looked. They were definitely his own hands, though, which was what was important here.

Then he caught a glimpse at his wrists. His _bare_ wrists. Oh- _kay_. This was getting weirder and weirder by the second because even if Ryan had woken up someplace unknown after a week and a half bender in the desert, he was pretty sure he'd still have his tattoos.

Ryan leapt out of bed and found a bathroom, craning around to see the backs of his arms and found them equally bare. His hair was long again, the swoop of his bangs falling into his eyes in an annoying way, reminding him why he'd gotten rid of that in the first place, and his eyes were rimmed dark with smeared eyeliner left on overnight. Ryan blinked at his own reflection in astonishment as a sense of dread washed over him.

It was like he'd traveled back in time, but to a time he couldn't remember. Ryan's throat caught and his heart beat erratically. Not good, not good, ugh, this was like a bad trip, a bad dream, like Ryan had made out with his bandmates and instead of falling asleep lonely and alone, he'd forgotten that he'd downed the bottle labeled 'Drink Me.'

"Ryan!" Spencer yelled again.

Ryan took a deep breath and tried not to freak out (more). He'd talk to Spencer, and they'd figure this out. Whatever 'this' was.

"Okay," Ryan muttered out loud, mostly to steady himself, before heading in the direction of Spencer's voice. He stopped short when he was greeted by the sight of Spencer's bare back as Spencer stirred something in a pan on the stove. Spencer turned around and revealed that he was wearing an apron that read 'Don't Make Me Poison Your Food.' Ryan chuckled as he wandered over and looked at what Spencer was making.

"Open up," Spencer said and held up a forkful of scrambled eggs. Ryan obeyed without question, leaning in and opening his mouth. He steadied himself with a hand against Spencer's back, and he couldn't see as much as feel a shiver go down Spencer's spine.

Ryan's eyes widened. "Wow." These were some seriously fucking awesome eggs, all light and fluffy and filled with herbs that Ryan couldn't identify. He hadn't had any idea Spencer could cook like this, beyond the kickass secret Smith family chocolate chip cookie recipe his mom had passed down to him and a mean chicken parmigiana that he'd been making since they were in high school. There'd been this whole three month period where Spencer had decided he was going to be either a drummer or a chef, but Ryan kept repeating 'the band, the band, the band' until any other potential careers had pushed their way out of Spencer's head. But seriously, these _eggs_. The next time Ryan wanted breakfast and they had access to a stove, he was so making a special request.

"Good?" Spencer asked, and damn, did he look anxious? Ryan wasn't exactly used to seeing that expression on Spencer's face anymore. It wasn't like Spencer's confidence was never-ending or he didn't experience moments of doubt, but they'd been few and far between lately. Ryan hadn't even really thought about it until he saw Spencer looking at him like that.

"Yeah." Ryan nodded enthusiastically. "I had no idea you could cook like that."

Spencer raised his eyebrows. "Generally they teach you how to cook in culinary school. I know you're always on your own solitary planet of woe, but at least you usually remember that."

Culinary school? Jesus, what the hell was going on here? "Sorry, Spence," Ryan muttered, and then shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "So, um." He put his hand in the middle of Spencer's back again, dragging down the notches of his spine. Spencer shivered into it again and made a noise halfway between a sign and a groan.

Ryan stilled. He guessed -- well, it was possible, considering Spencer's state of dress and Ryan's big bed, maybe here, wherever here was, that the two of them were more than just friends. Ryan remembered what Spencer had said the night before, about waiting forever, so maybe...

"Did you bring someone back with you last night?" Spencer said suddenly, whirling around to grip the edge of the counter with one hand and dislodging Ryan's hand. Spencer thumbed at the corner of Ryan's eye where the dark smudges of eyeliner remained. "I didn't hear you when you got home, but I was exhausted after my kitchen time. You probably could have brought a stampede of elephants in here without me noticing."

So maybe they weren't a thing after all. There was a swoop of disappointment in Ryan's stomach that was impossible to ignore. Not just disappointment. Regret.

Ryan shook his head. "Woke up alone."

Spencer grinned at that, quick enough that his smile had to be revealing his true feelings, especially because he turned right back to the stove so Ryan couldn't see his face anymore. That was just like Spencer, thinking he could hide something like his _smile_ from Ryan. Ryan was so not fooled and the swooping down in Ryan's gut switched quickly to swooping _up_. Hope. Happiness. Warmth.

Hmm.

"Good," Spencer said, reaching up to get a couple of plates out of a cabinet, "then there are more eggs leftover for you."

Ryan laughed. It was good to know that Spencer-shaped rewards for Ryan were still food a lot of the time, especially since here Spencer had a better arsenal than wrapped packages Zack had approved.

"So, what are you doing today?" Spencer asked, shoving two plates into Ryan's empty hands for serving.

Ryan shrugged. "Dunno. What do you think Brendon is up to?"

Okay, so that totally had been a test to gage Spencer's reaction, but Ryan still hadn't expected the one that he got. That was Spencer's stoniest face, the one with the tight smile, the same one Spencer usually reserved for the stupidest interviewers that didn't do their research beforehand. Ryan had very occasionally been on the bad side of it, but he never liked it; he especially didn't like it when he didn't know _why_ he was receiving it. This place sucked.

"Not funny, Ryan," Spencer gritted out eventually, slopping eggs onto both plates. He took one of the plates and stalked into the living room.

"Why is that funny?" Ryan asked, a little desperately. It wasn't like he thought Spencer wouldn't believe him if Ryan told him what was going on, but he couldn't risk anyone thinking he was crazy. He needed more information first, as much as possible. Ryan was a pretty sucky gambler, but he still knew to wait before showing his whole hand.

Spencer was stuffing his face with eggs by now, getting little bits of food stuck in his beard. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that Brendon is at his _job_ ," Spencer said, and that was definite anger, "which you'd know if you ever bothered to do anything other than squander away your royalties. You know, actually speaking to your friends or ex-bandmates? Next you'll probably be asking me about the last time I went to Port of Subs with Brent."

Actually no, Ryan hadn't considered Brent at all. _Jon_ , sure, but not Brent. Maybe that did make him an asshole-- wait, _ex_ -bandmates?

Ryan must have looked stricken because the bitchiness melted off of Spencer's face right away and settled back into his normal expression. He even looked a little bit contrite, though Ryan was pretty sure he had no reason to be. It sounded like Ryan had been making a pretty good go at being a royal pain in the ass... even more than usual.

"Brendon's number is probably on my desk. The business card has a million colors, you can't miss it." Spencer took his plate over to the sink again. Ryan followed, still eating. "If you've decided to be human again, you could clean up around here. Pay a bill. Look for a job. Visit Brendon. Just for the record, it would be really _nice_ if you were actually rejoining us on Planet Earth. It's been-- it's been a long time. I'll be home with enough time to go to Pete's show tonight, though, so be back before that, okay?"

Pete, huh? Ryan wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse, but it was interesting information either way.

*

Spencer left for school without answering any real questions and only raising about a hundred more.

Ryan wandered back into his room and finally took the time to really get a good look around. There was a giant framed Queen poster, and signed posters for Take This to Your Grave and Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, but Ryan had had those for ages. There were also a couple of framed pictures of Panic on tour, Nintendo Fusion, Truckstops and Statelines, tours of Europe and Japan, their first headlining tour. But then they just...stopped.

Ryan peered at the last photograph and almost shouted out loud. That was _Brent_ with his back to the audience, presumably playing his bass ( _like it mattered_ , Ryan thought meanly, then felt bad about it). But where was Jon? Why did the pictures stop there, why had Ryan's influences stayed the same?

The laptop sitting on his desk confirmed that it was definitely still 2008. Spencer looked nearly the same as he had the night before, even if Ryan looked frozen in time. He began frantically rifling through the mess on his desk, inside his drawers, and hit the jackpot there, finding crumpled up magazine articles and print-outs, every one detailing Panic! at the Disco's lackluster summer tour, the talk about a second album that went nowhere, and eventually an article about them breaking up. Ryan sat down hard on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding inside his ribcage.

 _Wentz's Failed Experiment: "We're still going to sign kids," the Fall Out Boy bassist and mini-media mogul told MTV News after the announcement. "Panic! just wasn't prepared for the way this world works. The music industry chews you up and spits you out, and if you don't have a support system, you're doomed. I'm just sorry I couldn't have saved them in time."_ Then, at the bottom: _"Leave me alone," lead guitarist/songwriter Ryan Ross was quoted as saying, holding his eye as he was escorted off the premises. "Leave me the f*** alone."_

So Ryan was keeping a disorganized diary of his own failures. That was just like Ryan. This was a future he'd played out in his head dozens of times when Brent started missing practices and showing up ten minutes before going on stage, when he decided that spending time away from the band meant more to him than being in it.

On a whim, Ryan pulled the laptop on his desk over to the bed and went to YouTube, searching for the Panic! at the Disco breakup, and once he waded through a few pages of fan-made videos of him and Brendon being declared the biggest tragic musical breakup since Bert and Gerard or Pete and Mikey, he found something called 'The Fistfight.' The video was jostly but close up, probably taken by someone in the pit, and showed Ryan, mid-song, suddenly throwing down his guitar on a discordant note, stalking across the stage, and clocking Brent across the jaw. The Ryan watching the video's eyes widened in shock as Brendon leaped over to video Ryan and Brent to haul Ryan back bodily, the feedback from Brendon's microphone covering the shout of pain Ryan made as Brent punched him in the eye. Spencer was there by then, too, pushing Brent away and off stage. The crowd's yelling was deafening even through tinny computer speakers.

Ryan closed the laptop, cutting off the noise of the crowd, and wandered back into the bathroom, looking at his stupid emo hair and the messy make-up remnants. He sighed.

No Jon, one stupid public breakup, and a fuckup with Brendon so bad that they weren't even talking. Wherever this was, however it happened, it sucked, and Ryan couldn't help somehow thinking that he deserved it.

Ryan scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out at his reflection.

It was so easy to picture his life this way, Ryan stuck in the past and stubbornly keeping himself removed from the people that meant the most to him, even Spencer who _lived_ with him. Well, screw that, no more. If Ryan was going to have to live this dipshit's life, then he was going to do it on his own terms.

He found a pair of nail scissors in the medicine cabinet and hacked at the hair hanging limply over his eye, until he'd given himself...well, a pretty terrible haircut. But at least he could face himself this way.

So what if he didn't deserve his life? It was still _his_ and he made it happen. He could do it again. Fuck fate, Ryan would fix himself in every existence if that was what it took.

Ryan went into Spencer's room and sifted through the small piles on the desk until he came to a business card decorated in a technicolor rainbow:

_Brendon Urie: Cosmetologist_

Ryan laughed quietly as he went searching for his cell phone. Maybe he could be fit in for some emergency hair repair.

"Hello, is Brendon available for an appointment today? ...This afternoon? Yeah, that would be awesome. Thanks."

*

Ryan squinted up at the address, making sure it matched the one listed on Brendon's card, then shifted from one foot to the other and looked at his phone for the time to check that he wasn't too early, then looked up again, just in case. There was a lot of nervousness at work here and he hoped that whatever happened between the other him and Brendon wasn't beyond repair, especially with the ambush tactics Ryan was employing. Was it really his place to fix the other Ryan's life? He hadn't really been doing such a hot job at his own as much as he loved it. So much felt like a series of happy accidents or awesome things where people other than him were catalysts.

The whole drive over (the other Ryan had a car, too, thank God for small favors), Ryan had been turning over his stupidity the night before, where he'd given up something that he'd secretly wanted for months. The only thing he could remember wanting as much was a record deal and a way out of Vegas, and he'd only turned this down because he was scared. Ryan always cared too much about what others thought about him, even if he couldn't always admit that to himself. Spencer was always saying that they didn't care about anything, that they didn't give a fuck, but that wasn't exactly true for Ryan. It's what he _wished_ he were like, but he really thought about too much. Were his clothes cool enough; was the band good enough to be accepted; were the people he dated right; was it cool to fall head over heels for three _guys_ and expect happily ever after included in the deal? He tugged on his hair nervously and shook his head. The only reason he ended up not caring so much was because of his band; it was so much better to let himself care about _them_ and not care so much about what other people thought.

Not that that mattered now. Maybe this was all a nightmare and Ryan would wake up tomorrow on the bus, safe and sound, but maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would be stuck in Unpleasantville forever. But maybe he didn't have to do it alone, and he had an appointment he couldn't be late for to help out with that. Ryan took a deep breath and went inside.

"Hi, I'm here to see Brendon?"

Brendon was in plain sight, fixing combs or gel or whatever at what Ryan guessed was his station, and looked up either at the sound of Ryan's voice or at his own name. Ryan couldn't be sure which it was, but judging by the look on Brendon's face, Ryan would have to guess it was him.

" _You're_ Ryan in the book?" Brendon said, his voice strangely tight and strained.

Ryan didn't like Brendon sounding like that and it sucked to know that him -- _any_ him -- was responsible for that. Sure, they'd had some pretty huge arguments over everything from word order to tiny little wind instruments, but it always blew over fast. This was something else. Ryan nodded hesitantly.

"Well, get the fuck over here, Ross, because you look like you got into a fight with a weed whacker and the weed whacker won."

Stifling a smile because he still couldn't quite read Brendon's tone or expression, Ryan shuffled over and dipped his head obediently as Brendon carded his fingers through Ryan's hair, muttering about how some people should never have access to anything sharper than safety scissors and stupid stunts to get a person's attention when a phone call would have worked.

"Hey," Ryan protested softly, though he didn't say anything more when Brendon gave him the stink eye. Okay, so maybe Brendon had a point.

Brendon led Ryan over to a row of sinks and pushed him down into a chair. There wasn't any chit-chat while Brendon ran the sink, other than to ask Ryan if the water was too hot for him then waiting too long to adjust it when Ryan said yes, but the shampoo itself was really nice. Everyone was always telling Ryan how nice his hands were, though they just looked like alien hands to him with his too long fingers and spider web veins; Ryan had secretly always thought that it was Brendon who had the nice hands, callused from plucking guitar strings and pounding piano keys to the point of pain, pretty and strong. And apparently good at lathering, based on the scalp massage Ryan was currently getting. Hell, Ryan felt like purring as Brendon's fingertips dug in behind his ears and at the crown of his head.

"Enjoying yourself?" Brendon asked out of the blue, startling Ryan into flailing limbs. But his voice didn't sound nearly as pissy as it had when Ryan had walked in, instead tinged with amusement. _This_ was the Brendon that Ryan knew, and it made something deep in Ryan's chest ache to hear it.

"A little bit," Ryan replied, carefully making his voice even more neutral than usual.

"Yeah," Brendon said, laughing a little, "the purring kind of gave you away."

Ryan made an apologetic noise. "Didn't mean to do that out loud."

"Close your eyes," Brendon said with a grin, tilting Ryan's head back again to rinse the soap away. A minute later he was tugging Ryan up and pushing him across the room to his station, where the mirror was decorated with letters spelling out BRENDON in a rainbow of construction paper. There were also a lot of photographs of Brendon's family, and Ryan spotted a tiny picture of the two of them with Spencer, back when they were just starting out. It wasn't really a good picture or a good look for any of them (Ryan with his long hair, Brendon with his dorky bangs and glasses, Spencer with his baby fat), but Ryan thought it was a good thing that it was there at all. At least it gave away that Brendon didn't hate them both forever. Didn't hate Ryan.

Brendon shook Ryan's shoulder, getting his attention to drape a plastic smock over him. "What am I doing with you today?"

"Coffee?" Ryan suggested.

"With your _hair_ ," Brendon clarified, sighing with what Ryan guessed was supposed to be exasperation but Brendon sounded too close to laughter for there to be any real meaning behind it.

Ryan shrugged. "Do whatever you want. I already did my worst."

"What, no bangs with a feathery mohawk? No picture of a scene boy's sad hair to copy?"

"No," Ryan said firmly, making a face. "Definitely not. Do whatever, it's fine. I'm all yours."

Brendon made the same pleased sound that Spencer had when Ryan told him that he liked the eggs. It was strange; these people had obviously been treated like shit by their Ryan, and yet they still wanted his approval. They still _cared_ even if the other Ryan might not have realized it. The idiot had no idea what he had.

That thought really shouldn't have caused yet another pang in Ryan's chest.

Brendon got to work on Ryan's hair, making him tilt his head one way or the other, commenting on his rock hard skull and the giant bump Ryan had on the back of his head.

"Oh," Ryan said, remembering, "I got that when I fell off my skateboard. Spence and I were making ramps, and we weren't as good at it as Spencer's granddad. The thing flew out in front of me and I banged the back of my head on Spencer's driveway."

Brendon snipped off a chunk of hair. "I figured it was your caveman ancestry. Or your brain trying to escape."

Ryan laughed. "Or that, if you think I had a brain to start with."

"Is this your way of apologizing, Ross?" Brendon asked finally, grabbing an electric razor and giving Ryan the illusion of sideburns. "Because those have never been your strong suit."

"It could be one if you wanted it to be."

"Apologies are made because they're the right thing to do, not because someone might want them."

That was a good point. Sure, this mess wasn't one that Ryan had made himself, but he was the one left to deal with it. Not only had the other Ryan had been a gigantic ass, but Ryan could easily see himself doing the same thing. This Ryan and that Ryan weren't so different after all.

"Even if that person really wants an apology," Brendon went on, pushing at the top of Ryan's head until his chin was nearly touching his chest, "because some idiot stopped talking to him when that person said they wanted to stay by the idiot's side no matter what happened with their band."

Ryan nearly rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm apologizing. I'm sorry for shutting you out, I'm sorry the band blew up so spectacularly, I'm sorry for not doing more about Brent--"

The scissors stopped suddenly. "We were all at fault for --"

"And most of all, I'm sorry that it took so long to do this." Ryan lifted his head again when Brendon gave the okay. "Unity is, like, the most important thing when it comes to being a band. Otherwise it's just four strangers playing music at vaguely the same time."

"Thank God for click tracks," Brendon joked.

Ryan smiled. "So, coffee after you get off work?"

Brendon brushed Ryan's shoulders off and put a mirror in Ryan's hand. "Coincidentally, you're my last appointment today."

"That _is_ a coincidence," Ryan said. "Is it also a yes?"

"Yeah, dumbass. Now look at your hair and don't blame me when you remember what you gave me to work with."

What Ryan had was a haircut pretty much resembling the cut he'd had all tour. The bangs were too short in the front, the sideburns looked a little sparse and weird, and his ears stuck out like an elf's. Ryan broke into a wide, goofy grin.

"I love it."

*

Brendon waved to the receptionist, pulling Ryan out after he paid and completely refusing Ryan's tip by rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue. "Don't insult my genius."

"I was just being polite," Ryan protested.

"Well, knock it off," Brendon said, still holding on to Ryan's wrist. "I'm okay with the new Ryan Ross that's telling me how sorry he is and how wrong he was, but I'm not okay with the new Ryan Ross who's polite and well-mannered. I'm going to think you were replaced by a robot."

"Maybe I was," Ryan said seriously. "Maybe I've always been a robot."

Brendon rolled his eyes. "That would explain way too much. Now come on and use the money you didn't spend to buy me coffee and sweet things."

The coffeehouse was one of those fancy locally owned ones, and Brendon ordered a latte with two extra shots of espresso and more flavored syrup than any human should ever consume in one sitting, then added more sugar to it once it arrived. Ryan eyed Brendon's cheesecake and planned on stealing at least half. If he had to be a robot, at least he'd be the kind of robot that still stole half of Brendon Urie's raspberry chocolate cheesecake.

Ryan drank his own mocha, not blinking when Brendon reached across the table to wipe whipped cream from his top lip. That was normal for Ryan, though apparently not for Brendon who looked surprised that he'd done it. Either that or he was surprised that Ryan had let himself get whipped cream on his top lip in the first place. Ryan remembered that the old him had had a pretty major stick up his ass and not in the fun way, at least in public; the old him wouldn't have even admitted to himself that there was a fun way. Huh. That was something to think about.

"Does anyone ever recognize you when they go into the salon?" Ryan asked, breaking the coffee-drinking silence they'd lapsed into.

Brendon shrugged and jiggled his leg. "Sometimes. I guess I'm sort of the local washed-up celebrity, but it's not like there aren't a billion of those in Las Vegas."

"Most of those aren't twenty-one years old with a total ability to make it as a solo artist."

"Don't want to go solo," Brendon said, "and you don't know that I'd make it. Maybe in a few years if nothing pans out, but I liked being in a band."

"Another band?"

Brendon shrugged again. "I liked _our_ band."

"So you're still working on your music?" Ryan asked hopefully, leaning forward.

"Yeah, two-minute songs, nothing important or great."

Ryan handwaved, which wasn't the greatest idea while holding a mocha, but he managed to only slosh a little over the side. "Your songs are clever. People love them."

"How do you know?" Brendon asked. He raised an eyebrow.

" _Would_ love them," Ryan corrected hastily, remembering himself. "I just have a good feeling. I'm told that I have good instincts."

"Did you... were you thinking about getting the band back together?" Brendon was looking down at his hands and his voice was so carefully flat that he obviously was keeping any lingering hope out of it.

Ryan didn't know about that. He knew that he didn't like to imagine himself without his band, but maybe that wasn't true for the other Ryan. And they'd never had Jon before, which was something else Ryan hated to think about. There was definitely a Jon-sized hole in all of their lives, and clearly it was contributing to making them miserable. Ryan didn't know what to do about that.

He took so long to answer that Brendon lifted his head again. Their eyes locked, and there was something in that look that made Ryan take a hasty gulp of his drink.

"Maybe," Ryan answered finally, once he'd put his cup down again. "But you know what it is really? I missed you."

That wasn't a lie, and it didn't matter that it had been less than a day since he'd seen Brendon. He was used to having Brendon around and there was this twitching need inside him to make things right for himself, too. Ryan hadn't let himself think much about the others back home or the night before as much as he probably needed to. It was funny how it seemed like fixing one bad night would be so much easier than fixing some stranger's whole life in theory, but in practice they were equally scary.

"I missed you, too," Brendon said, pausing two beats before reaching over to rub Ryan's hand. It felt pretty much the same as when Ryan had wondered if he and Spencer were together in this life; he guessed this thing all of them had really did stretch over boundaries as long as they were still _them_. Too bad it had taken Ryan so long to see it. "A lot," Brendon went on. "Have you talked to Brent?"

Ryan shook his head, feeling a little guilty. "I've been thinking about where we went wrong."

Brendon sighed heavily and looked like a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "I know. We should have fired him before things got really bad. I know he is -- was, maybe, I don't know -- our friend, but maybe we would have had a chance."

"I think we would have," Ryan said, trying not to sound too much like Brendon hit it right on the nose.

Ryan's pocket vibrated and he asked Brendon to hold on for a second while he dug out his phone.

_xtra class tonite. go to show neway or ill kill u. will make u breakfast. say hi to pete bill and jon for me._

"Oh, fuck, right," Ryan muttered. He glanced up apologetically.

"Got to go?" Brendon asked.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to go to that Fall Out Boy show at The Pearl tonight. Spence just bailed, too, so I guess it's doubly important that I go." Ryan tilted his head to one side. "Did you want to come along? I'm sure Pete would--"

"No thanks," Brendon said, cutting Ryan off. "It's still kind of painful to see those people up on stage."

Ryan nodded. That made sense. Hell, that was probably the same reason Spencer was so insistent that Ryan go, just to face that pain and maybe put it past them.

"Give me your number then, okay?" Ryan said, passing the Sidekick across the table to Brendon. "I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's my day off," Brendon said. His fingers touched Ryan's as he took the phone.

"Then we can do something tomorrow. If you want."

Brendon smiled as he tapped at the keys, and it was an unguarded one, wide and brilliant. "If you don't call, I'll shave your head while you sleep."

Ryan patted his hair protectively, but got up to hug Brendon tightly before he left, watching as Brendon walked away. He looked at Brendon's new number and reread Spencer's text: _say hi to pete bill and jon_

Bill and Jon? Oh God, that meant The Academy was playing, too. This was way better than Ryan had thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan had restlessly tapped his fingers on the wheel the whole way over to The Palms, and experienced a moment of weirdness as he tipped the parking guy, considering his -- other Ryan's -- money situation. Spencer had said that their royalty money was what Ryan had been spending, but there was no way that was going to last forever. If Ryan was really wasting his nights in casinos and clubs then it was just getting spent that much faster. Yeah, there was a tiny chance that Ryan was some sort of card shark, but considering how crappy he was at gambling back home, he had his doubts. He had nothing to fall back on. There were a lot of reasons to worry about this Ryan who was now him, and the band was only one of them. Putting on his life and wearing it made him feel sort of empty. Hollow. It was sad like polyester.

The ticket booth had an all-access pass waiting for him, and the girl manning it did a doubletake at Ryan's name then outright stared at him, but didn't say anything more. That was good; Ryan really didn't know what he'd say to her. _Glad to still get recognized? Sorry the band broke up? I'm really from a place where Panic is still together, and I'm freaking out a little because I'd really like to get back there_ now _only I don't know how?_ All of those were sort of not options.

Backstage, Ryan felt kind of at a loss, even though this was all really familiar for him. Maybe it just that he wasn't used to being a guest, but he didn't think so. For instance, how was he supposed to deal with Pete? In his real life of course they were good friends, but Ryan also hadn't screwed over their record contract by punching his bassist and breaking up the band. And yeah, Pete had invited Ryan and Spencer out to see the show, but who could ever figure out his motivations for anything? This was potentially a bad situation to be walking into. Ryan hopped out of the way of a stagehand and took a deep breath before knocking on Fall Out Boy's dressing room.

The door was flung open and there stood Pete Wentz beaming at him. Ryan counted at least four-hundred visible teeth.

"Ryan Ross, you reclusive motherfucker, get the fuck in here right now!" Before Ryan could register anything other than shock, he was pulled into one hell of a bear hug; it seemed like Pete was trying to physically wrap himself around Ryan's body like a limpet or a monkey or the Blob trying to absorb him into his being. Ryan grunted as all the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

"Uh, hi?" Ryan eventually croaked.

"Let him go," called someone from inside the room. It sounded like Patrick. "You probably cracked at least two of his ribs. He's a skinny dude!"

Pete loosened his grip but he still held on to Ryan's upper arms, and he wouldn't stop grinning, grinning, grinning. "I forget how fragile you are, Ryan Ross. Sit down and talk to your old boss. I'll even give you five whole minutes of making excuses before I start trying to convince you to come back to the label."

That floored Ryan. He thought again about how the Ryan here was pretty stupid as far as he could tell. He had Spencer, who still cared enough about their friendship to put up with Ryan as a roommate and took care of all the bills so Ryan could be in his mopey, woe-is-me stupor. (Okay, so the bill part wasn't too unfamiliar, but that was more because Ryan was absentminded, not because he was too busy wasting his life to care. Too busy worrying about more important things maybe, or maybe he just liked being taken care of. That was something to consider.) This Ryan had Brendon who'd put his whole music career on hold and was cutting hair like Panic had never happened, not because he couldn't make it without the band, but because he didn't want to. Though from what Brendon had said to him Ryan could see the statute of limitations was running out on that one and rightfully so; talent like Brendon's couldn't be held back forever. This Ryan had Pete Wentz still at bat for him, wanting to re-sign him or pick up the contract again, and Ryan got the distinct feeling that it wasn't necessarily Panic that he wanted. Pete had pretty much always been Panic's number one cheerleader. Ryan's cheerleader. Whichever.

"You're still writing, right?" Pete asked, propping up his feet on a coffee table and passing Ryan a bag of Cheetos. 

Ryan took the bag and enviously watched Joe tune up a custom Fender. It was a very pretty guitar. If he'd been at home, he'd be getting ready to go out on stage himself. 

"I'm writing," Ryan said, not knowing or caring if the other Ryan really was. Ryan was always writing and couldn't imagine not doing it. "I don't know how good it is, but I'm writing."

Pete grinned and stole back the Cheetos. Ryan licked orange dust off his index and middle fingers.

"The best part about songwriting is having your crazy, terrible, horrible, no-good rambling set to music," Pete said with his mouth full. "It makes the words beautiful in a way that disjointed blog entries can't."

Ryan shrugged. "That's you. Not everyone has a Patrick to make them sound sane."

"And they never will." Pete fistpumped triumphantly. "Most people don't get lucky like me, but some people get lucky in other ways. Sometimes you have to try out a bunch of stuff until everything feels right. Lightning strikes in weird places."

Yeah, that. It was fucked up that Ryan had found what felt right and this is still what happened. Again he was feeling like an even bigger idiot than the Ryan he'd replaced. He wasn't in a hopeless, empty-seeming situation; he'd ignored and rejected the obvious.

"I saw Brendon today," Ryan offered.

"Good. I knew you two crazy kids couldn't keep stonewalling forever. Spencer's a scary little dude, and he sure as hell would have kicked your asses one of these days. Even if he does have about a thousand times more patience with you than with anyone else."

Spencer didn't _really_ have endless patience with Ryan. At least his Spencer didn't. They'd just known each other long enough that Ryan knew how to steer Spencer's moods with slightly more success than the average person. Still, Ryan understood what Pete was saying.

"If you guys start making music again, email me or text me or whatever. I'm always available for my little stalker in Vegas." Pete was smiling still, but his tone took on a serious note. "Remember the thing about the lightning. Not only does it not strike often, but it strikes twice even less. I've got a lot of really sweet bands signed and lined up, but I still know you're special. Even if you never seem to believe it."

Ryan fought an oncoming blush and nodded. "I'll let you know if something happens." Or he'd make sure the other Ryan did. Letting Pete down wasn't something Ryan was good at. He didn't _want_ to be good at that.

"Awesome!" Pete looked hopeful and delighted. "Then I'll let you out of here so you can watch The Academy Is... play. Bill is still Bill. Have you seen them with their new guitarist?"

"Yeah, he's great," Ryan said.

Pete nodded. "He's not Tom, but he worked out well. A better fit, you know? Sometimes things don't work even if you try hard at making them. You know about hammering a square peg into a round hole, right?"

Yeah, that was pointed. Ryan guessed that some things were just accepted by everyone even when they were never said out loud.

Ryan watched TAI's set from the side of the stage, ducking back when he spotted a couple of tiny teenage girls crushed up against the barrier stop worshiping Bill and start excitedly talking to each other while pointing in his direction. This would probably end up all over MySpace or Buzznet in a few hours anyway, but Ryan didn't need to actively encourage it or provide a photo op.

Pete was right; William was still William, only even... William-ier. His voice was raw as he sang, like he was trying to seduce the entire audience, and he strutted around with the confidence that he didn't exactly carry off stage with him (unless that had changed too). Bill let the crowd grab at him and sang his fucking heart out. It was awesome to watch, though not exactly Ryan's style even if he could see the appeal in it. Having an entire throng of people hanging on your words, your music, _you_ was daunting and amazing.

Even with Jon still teching for The Academy, they ended up replacing Tom with Chiz. Ryan supposed there was a point with any powder keg when the situation could either be diffused right before the explosion or a catalyst would set the whole thing off. _Blam._ When they'd just let the fuse of Brent work its way down to the end instead of putting it out with Jon, they'd turned into Shrapnel! at the Disco. Ryan was glad that hadn't happened to TAI, too.

"They're good, aren't they?" said someone right next to Ryan's ear.

Ryan absently hummed his agreement, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, but they sound different from how I remember."

The someone laughed, warm and low, even though Ryan hadn't been making a joke, only forgetting himself again. Ryan's eyes went wide at the sound. 

"What does that mean?" Jon asked, his grin making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Ryan shrugged, no longer paying attention to what was happening on stage.

"You've never been that great at making sense," Jon said. He scratched his head and the gesture was so stupidly familiar that Ryan hugged him outright. That was strange for him in his own life, let alone this sullen, Bizarro Ryan's life, but he couldn't help himself. Luckily, Jon rolled with it because he was Jon Walker and hugged right back.

"I forgot you were going to be here," Ryan said once he'd pulled away and stepped back, embarrassed. He hadn't really forgotten, even though he'd been getting caught up in the show. But now opportunity was right in front of him, and it wasn't like Ryan to refuse what was offered.

"Yep, still bass teching," Jon said, looking down at his feet and flexing his flip-flop. "I went back to school again for a little while but I missed touring too much."

Ryan wrinkled up his forehead. "Doesn't Tom have a new band?"

Jon grinned, pride clearly written all over his face. "Yeah, you heard about it? They're awesome, but I turned him down when I was doing the school thing and then Sisky asked me to come out again. Pete was really rah-rah about that, you know how he is."

Yeah, Ryan definitely knew about that, thinking back to their earlier conversation.

"Anyway, here I am," Jon said. "The timing was off, but who knows? I'd love to be in a band again; backstage is great but sometimes I miss being in front of a crowd. Even if that crowd was usually eleven guys in my buddy's basement."

Ryan laughed. "If you were in a band again, would it have to be Tom's band?" Ryan asked. He tried to make the question sound as casual as possible.

Jon shrugged. "It'd have to feel right, whatever it was."

That was a good enough answer. Jon and Ryan watched the rest of The Academy's set, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the wings. Ryan soaked up Jon's warmth and felt giddy about being around him. This Jon wasn't his Jon, the one who'd built a fort with Ryan in his backyard when the electricity went out or who sat around drinking beer and making up melodies on an acoustic, but he was the Jon who'd helped Ryan fix his guitar pedals and became one of his good friends on tour. And of course he was still one hell of a musician.

TAI headed off the stage, and William immediately got Ryan into a sweaty headlock, pulling him bodily into their tiny dressing room. 

"Ryan _Rossy_ , nice of you to finally show your face around here again," Bill said, sounding out of breath and full of adrenaline. He smacked a kiss to the top of Ryan's head and pushed him away again. Jon had been following and caught him neatly. Ryan shook his head and laughed, letting Jon steer them into a corner and away from the rest of the band.

He offered Ryan a beer and then instantly looked guilty about it. That was weird, but...oh. Ryan got it. Everyone still walked on eggshells around other Ryan, but since he'd seemingly done nothing to discourage that, Ryan knew he couldn't get angry about it either. Well, other than being angry at the situation in general.

"I can have one," Ryan said. He kept his tone carefully light. "I drove here, but I know my limits. The rumors of my past have been greatly exaggerated."

"Sorry," Jon said, and he did look pretty apologetic. "I know that you can take care of yourself, but I wasn't sure if you were still against...you know. All of that. Don't want to offend. I was sorry to hear about him, for what it's worth."

Ryan shook his head. Yeah, another thing in this life that was the same as in his. That was probably for the best in this case, though. If his dad had been alive... well, it wasn't worth thinking about that set of possibility. He'd drive himself crazy.

"It's okay, really," Ryan said, and took a can from Jon, tilting it up for a drink. He made a face right away because it was the skanky, cheap Midwestern beer that Jon usually drank and Ryan usually didn't. "You can make it up to me by saying how long you're in town."

Jon grinned and leaned forward, all awkwardness from the moment before gone, easy as that. "Two shows over three nights, special Fall Out Boy Vegas dates. I get a day off tomorrow and all."

Ryan leaned against a wall and tilted his hips forward, reaching into his front pocket to pull out his Sidekick. "Update your information, Jon. I'm going to demand your attention during your night off and you won't say no."

Jon laughed and took the phone out of Ryan's hand. "Yes, sir."

Okay, yeah, Ryan was flirting. It was all right, though; this Jon might have been more of a stranger than his Jon, but he was still Jon Walker and he was still really receptive to Ryan. And okay, maybe he'd go to sleep that night and he'd wake up where he was supposed to be, maybe with Brendon crawling into his bunk or Spencer kicking his ass to wake him the hell up, but he'd still gotten the wheels moving here. He felt pretty good about the whole thing, good enough that he drank three-fourths of the Natural Light, gross as it was, before declaring his inner limit and bailing on the dressing room party, the show, and fending off invites to after parties. It felt pretty hopeful knowing that none of those people hated Ryan, and he was smiling when he let Jon walk him to the backstage exit. There was a text on his phone before he even got his car.

_stole your info 2. yr differnt from how i remember. better call me or ill call you. -jwalk_

Ryan couldn't help grinning again before he drove off.

*

It took Ryan twenty minutes longer than it should have to get back to his and Spencer's apartment because his first instinct was to head toward his own house -- his _real_ house with his dog and his pretty piano, not this fake place where he was now, no matter how cozy it was -- and then he got turned around and lost coming back from that. It was a good thing that Ryan was in a really hopeful mood because of how well things had gone with Jon and Brendon. He felt more and more convinced that getting Panic together in this reality was his mission. He was like his own guardian angel. In messing up his own life he found one he couldn't possibly fuck up worse.

Ryan pulled into their parking lot and started to formulate a plan: Brendon was expecting Ryan to call tomorrow and so was Jon. He only needed to get Spencer on board, and he felt sure that everything would naturally fall into place. 

Maybe he wouldn't even need to be there. Maybe he could just leave notes for the other Ryan, detailed ones that said a little more than 'Stop being a douchebag, Ryan. Don't mess this up again' and whatever force brought him here could take him back home.

Ryan let himself into the apartment and looked around to see if Spencer had beaten him back, but the house was still dark. He'd have to wait until later to talk to him then. He decided to check his email for anything urgent and secret that he might have missed about the other Ryan and only found a message from Brendon telling him to keep up the good karma because that was fate's way of letting people get lucky further down the line. Ryan swallowed and had to find a pen right away, writing down his bizarre day for other Ryan to find. Yeah, if it were him and he found something like that, he might think he was having some sort of mental breakdown, but maybe the other Ryan would still take advantage of it. Hey, a Good Fairy personality was still a Good Fairy, and Ryan wasn't one to ignore opportunity when it was handed to him.

After he was done, pointedly underlining the part where he mentioned Jon and Brendon's new contact info on the Sidekick, Ryan felt restless, a strange mix of exhausted and wired, in that place where sleep is just an impossibility. He still wanted to wait up for Spencer and felt gross after being stuck in dressing rooms and backstage with a bunch of sweaty guys, so he padded into the bathroom to shower. At least that would help keep him awake for a little longer.

Ryan had been so freaked that morning that he really hadn't taken proper inventory of the bathroom. It was pretty nice, actually. The room was small and had a few too many damp towels thrown on the floor and some stray hair clippings in the sink, but the design appealed to his sense of aesthetics and the bathtub was freaking awesome. It had a lived-in feeling that Ryan's house never quite achieved because of all the time he spent on the road. Also tour life made him extra grateful for indoor plumbing. Ryan was happy for a real bathroom that wasn't even in a hotel.

He undressed and messed with the faucets, checking temperature before stepping under the spray. The water was hot -- not too hot but someone had clearly been paying attention to the water bill. There were definite advantages to living with Spencer Smith.

Ryan groaned as the spray hit his shoulders and tipped his head backwards, getting his new-old haircut wet. His thoughts stayed on Spencer, but he was too tired to try to shoo them. He wondered what his Spencer was doing right then and hoped there hadn't been some sort of even exchange where other Ryan was living out _his_ life. He didn't want Spencer's best friend look of concern focused on anyone except him, which he knew was unfair because he had no problem accepting it from the Spencer here. It was stupid being jealous of himself. Ryan bit his lip and thought about Spencer kneeling between his legs the night before, telling him that he'd waited forever. Forever was a long time, and Spencer and Ryan had been inseparable pretty much as long as Ryan could remember. Ryan swallowed hard as he ran his hand down the front of his chest, shivering under the water even as he hastily stopped himself from going further by grabbing the nearest shampoo bottle.

It wasn't an easy thing washing his hair and trying to ignore what he really wanted to do. Big mistake, in fact. His fingertips against his scalp felt like Brendon's had that afternoon, only nowhere near as good. It was the same as jerking off, he guessed, his thoughts straying that way before he was able to stop them. That always felt better when it was someone else's hand, even if Ryan's own hand could feel really good.

Another beat and he was thinking about Brendon's hand between Ryan's legs the night before, the way it made his hips roll up, wanting, his body aching with something his brain couldn't process, and Ryan's hand was around his dick, thinking about Jon saying how what was happening between them had been happening for a long time. That it was only natural. That it was what was _meant_ to happen.

Fuck. Ryan stroked a little faster, thumbing over the head as the water ran over him, and he let out a little moan when he remembered the way Jon had kissed him, his stubble rough against Ryan's chin, nothing really like what Ryan had experienced with kissing before, but nothing _wrong_ with it either. There was tingling numbness in Ryan's palm and fingers, and his toes were already curling against the smooth plastic bathtub floor as he leaned forward, one hand flat against the shower wall for balance as he squeezed himself hard at the base with the other. 

This Ryan, this Spencer, this Brendon, they were missing out on so much not having Jon around all the time. He was their glue, the thing that motivated them, the thing that made them a band. More than a band. He made them them, made them all want more, so much more, even Ryan. _Especially_ Ryan.

Ryan opened his mouth and panted wetly, water falling onto his tongue, his fingers a slick blur on his cock, making him babble mindlessly and finally, _finally_ let himself just _want_ , no strings attached. He pictured Spencer and Brendon kissing in his lap; felt Brendon's mouth on his, soft and urgent; saw Jon's tongue push its way into Brendon's mouth; felt Spencer's beard against his face, not rough like Jon's stubble; felt Brendon's fingers wrapped around his dick, trapped inside his pants. God, it would have been so easy to let Jon undo his zipper, to have Spencer's hand up his shirt, to get Brendon to jack him off, easy as anything, oh --

" _Fuck_. Jon... Brendon... Spencer. _Please_."

Ryan came hard in his hand, shivering and moaning weakly as the shower's spray washed any evidence away. He leaned his forehead against the tile, turned the faucet off and tried to remember how to just breathe. It took him a fair amount of time to come back to himself so he didn't just feel like nerve endings and skin, but Ryan eventually managed. He grabbed a towel off the rack and hoped that Spencer didn't have some elaborate towel procedure that Ryan was messing up (though Spencer probably did and Ryan probably was) and took his time to slowly dry himself off.

Spencer was sitting on his -- on other Ryan's -- bed when Ryan walked back into the room, holding his -- other Ryan's -- handwritten explanation in his hand and looking pretty perturbed. Ryan wasn't sure if that was because he'd read what Ryan had written or because Ryan had stupidly left the bathroom door open just enough that Spencer had potentially heard Ryan getting himself off a few minutes earlier. Ryan honestly wasn't sure which he'd rather.

"Please tell me you're working on a story," Spencer said before Ryan had a chance to say anything. He put the notes back at the foot of the bed.

"Yeah," Ryan said immediately, relieved for the easy out. "Of course I'm writing a story. You know how much you wanted me to get back to living, right? I love writing."

"Holy shit," Spencer said, jumping up and running his hands through his hair. "You're such a liar. I _knew_ something was up with you this morning. You were chipper, and you didn't walk out in the middle of a conversation to go sulk broodily in your room." He started pacing back and forth, and Ryan wondered if he could maybe dart by him just to grab some sweatpants and a shirt because standing around in a towel while Spencer had a nervous breakdown was really pretty awkward. Spencer stopped pacing and zeroed his bitchface on Ryan. "You _are_ him, though, aren't you?"

Ryan shrugged and held on tight to his towel. "Ask me anything."

"What's the ultimate skateboarding song?"

"'The Final Countdown' by Europe," Ryan answered immediately. "Duh."

"What's the thing that you're sworn never to tell anyone?"

"Okay, one, you were thirteen, and I think you can let it go now. Two, it's not that bad."

Spencer tapped his foot.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "That during your first kiss, you were in the back row of that stupid dance movie, and the rubber band of your braces snapped and got caught on hers. The ushers had to pry you apart." Ryan tilted his head to one side. "Spence, it's _me_. Just not me."

Spencer's face broke into a grin again. It was such a relief seeing it that Ryan's shoulders sagged and he nearly lost his towel again. "Fuck. It _is_ you, but not you. _Weird_."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "Fucking weird." He grinned back.

"One more question."

"Anything."

Spencer took a tentative step forward. "The stuff I... okay, so I've been home for about twenty minutes."

Ryan's cheeks heated up. "Oh."

"Yeah," Spencer agreed. "Oh. So the stuff I head you saying... did you mean that?"

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I meant it." God, that felt good saying out loud. Embarrassing as hell, but good, even if it wasn't the right Spencer. Except it was still _Spencer_ so. Ryan's head hurt.

"I didn't know." Spencer's voice was very soft.

"Neither did I before last night," Ryan said with a little laugh. "I think that's why I ended up here."

Spencer swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple moving, and took another step forward. "Do you think that he...?"

"He's me," Ryan said. "I'm him. I think it's a safe bet to say yes. You're just missing your glue."

"Glue?" Spencer was suddenly much closer than he'd been a minute before. Ryan blinked and looked up. "When did you get so short, Ryan?"

"I'm not short, I'm totally average height," Ryan protested. "You just grew." And that was easy. This was them.

Ryan had never been dumb even if he could act like it, so he wasn't surprised when this Spencer leaned down and kissed Ryan, tilting his chin up and fitting their mouths together as easily as his Spencer had the night before. His beard felt the same, his tongue still worked Ryan's lips open like the two of them had been doing that along with everything else they'd been doing their entire lives. Ryan felt his towel slip again. It wouldn't have been too difficult for Ryan to drop it and get Spencer's clothes off too. And Ryan wanted to, he really, really did. This was Spencer, just like he was Ryan. Spencer -- this Spencer, too -- had been waiting forever.

So he pushed Spencer away. Gently, and not before biting down softly on Spencer's lower lip, drawing a startled hiss from Spencer. 

"Ry..."

Damn. That breathy voice was going to _kill_ him.

"Don't you want to wait till he's back to tell him yourself?" Ryan asked, not without regret.

Spencer looked scared, something that Ryan still wasn't used to, even seeing it earlier that day. "I can't."

"You can. He feels the same way, I know it," Ryan said, pointing to the note he'd written to the other Ryan. "Don't make me write 'P.S. Spencer loves you, too. Yes, that way.' Because I'll do it."

Spencer laughed and nodded.

"Okay, so let's get a band together," Ryan said, hitching his towel up again. "Just... let's keep this whole body snatcher thing between us unless I say otherwise."

"Pinkie swear," Spencer agreed and held up his little finger like they were five and six again. Ryan shot him a lopsided grin.

"Pinkie swear," Ryan said, and hooked their pinkies together.

*

When Ryan woke up the next day, he was staring at a ceiling again.

"Damn," he muttered to no one. Just a normal ceiling, and no familiar movement of a bus underneath him. Another morning, another day of living someone's life. He'd have been lying to himself if he said he wasn't disappointed, but he guessed his time as his own guardian angel wasn't over yet. Ryan sighed and rolled out of bed.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Spencer called cheerfully from the kitchen.

"Fuck off," he called back.

Spencer spun around and eyed him warily. "Are you... back?" he asked.

Ryan scratched his head. "No, it's not him. It's me. I'm just not that much of a morning person either. Do you seduce him with breakfast every morning?" 

"Nice word choice," Spencer said. "No, douchebag."

Ryan smiled sleepily and padded up to Spencer's side to peer at what he was making. Ooh. "Ooh."

"Yeah, _pancakes_ , Ryan Ross," Spencer teased him, shaking the griddle. They owned a griddle? "Pancakes with bananas in them. Interested?"

"You're a bastard, Spence," Ryan told him, inhaling deeply.

Spencer laughed. "Yeah, a bastard who can play you like a fiddle. Go make some coffee and try not to burn it too badly."

It wasn't Ryan's fault that making coffee was _hard_. Anyone could mess it up at any time, and it wasn't like Spencer owned a Starbucks franchise or something. He busied himself with the coffeemaker without complaint anyway, though, because _pancakes_. Damn it, Spencer really could play Ryan like a fiddle, no matter which Ryan it was. So entirely not fair.

"So, I have some news," Spencer said a little while later, handing Ryan a plate while Ryan handed him a mug. The coffee hadn't burned at all, so there; he was master of Mr. Coffee.

Ryan followed Spencer into the living room and sat next to him on the couch, tucking his legs underneath him and trying to balance his coffee on the couch's arm. "What kind of news?"

"The weird kind," Spencer said, drinking about half his coffee in one gulp and somehow managing not to burn his mouth at all. "The kind where I tell you that I talked to Brent last night after you went to sleep."

Ryan almost inhaled a forkful of pancake and started coughing. Spencer had to pound on his back. "Wh-- _what_?"

"Calm down." Spencer rolled his eyes. "I wanted to warn him that there was a chance there would be a band again, and that it was most likely that he'd have no place in it. I have no idea what went down exactly with your band and Brent, but I take it that you didn't punch him in front of a few thousand people, right?"

"No," Ryan said and winced. "You fired him over speakerphone with me and Brendon in the room."

"Right. So that's not your apology to make, and since Ryan -- my Ryan -- isn't here to make it, I did it for him. It's not a big deal..."

Ryan smiled a little. "Says you. I bet you're used to covering my ass."

"Someone has to," Spencer said and shrugged.

"What'd he say?" Ryan said, carefully chewing and not breathing in pancakes, making an indecent noise as he ate. That was it; Ryan was buying Spencer cooking lessons for his birthday. He tried not to get too distracted by his breakfast.

"He said he was happy now, that he was back in school and had a girlfriend, and that he wished me well. Not _you_ \-- well, Ryan, I guess -- but it's still something."

Well, if other Ryan was going to get the good things in Ryan's life, it made sense that some of the bad carried over, too. "It's a start," Ryan agreed, deciding not to get into his own situation but Spencer clearly saw through him and changed the subject.

"So you're still here," Spencer said unnecessarily.

Ryan sighed. "Still here."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Ryan told him. "I guess there's more to do than just get a band going for you guys again, or to..."

"Get a haircut? Make out with me in a towel?" Spencer grinned widely and Ryan's stomach flipped. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, more than that."

"Maybe you should make out with everyone in a towel," Spencer suggested. His voice was perfectly even, which was so baffling. "After all, I didn't just overhear my name last night."

Ryan's eyes went really wide then and he shoved the remainder of his pancakes into his mouth, just to give it something to do that didn't involve pinning Spencer against the couch cushions.

But it did give him an idea.

"Do you have class today?" Ryan asked, once he could talk again.

Spencer nodded. "Just one, though, and we're not in the kitchens, so once I'm done there, I'll be free for whatever."

"Okay, good." Ryan got up and grabbed Spencer's plate. "Leave that open for me."

*

An hour and twelve very confusing text messages later, Ryan had gathered directions to Brendon's house, which turned out to be exactly where he lived in Ryan's real life. This was why Ryan never asked Brendon for directions anywhere. It probably also had a lot to do with why people never asked him for directions, either. He'd just ask for an address next time and let the internet take care of the rest.

Ryan got buzzed into Brendon's apartment and was met by a sleepy-looking Shane at the door.

"Hey, man," Ryan said, holding up his hand for a high five, but Shane grabbed his hand for a handshake instead.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Shane said, ducking down suddenly in a failed attempt to catch an escaping little gray and white blur.

"Dylan!" Ryan jumped and grabbed her collar. She sat right away and smiled a doggie smile at him, wagging her tail.

Shane grinned and moved out of the doorway as Ryan straightened up again. "Good guess on her name," he said as they all went inside. "I bet Brendon couldn't shut up about her."

"Something like that," Ryan said, scratching Dylan behind the ears before letting her go so she could tear around some more.

"Hey!" Brendon shouted, bounding out into the living room. 

He was beaming from ear-to-ear, and it felt like a kick to the chest to see him looking so damned hopeful. Like a _good_ kick to the chest. Ryan remembered what Pete had said about lightning almost never striking twice, but maybe if something was really electric it was worth trying to capture in a jar. He reminded himself never to mention this to Brendon because he'd probably break into the Electric Slide and no one needed that.

"Did you make it here okay?"

Ryan nodded and waved to Brendon. "I only got lost, like, twice. Not that bad considering your directions were heavy on the smiley faces and exclamation points."

"I don't know what you're complaining about. Those are perfectly respectable choices." Brendon grinned again. "I see you've met my roommate and dog. Shane and Dylan, this is Ryan Ross. He's mostly an ass but I'm kind of used to him."

Shane visibly rolled his eyes. "I'll just pretend I haven't heard every complaint you've ever made about him, plus all the drunken reminiscing, right?"

"You drunkenly reminisced about me?" Ryan couldn't help twitching up one corner of his mouth.

"Lies and slander!" Brendon gasped, clutching his chest. "Shane is a traitor."

"Yeah, well, Shane the Traitor is going to take Dylan the Pain in the Ass into his room in an attempt to train her to shake hands."

"Ah, so Shane the Traitor plans on changing his name to Shane the Futile." Brendon nodded sagely.

"Basically," Shane said and whistled. Dylan wagged her tail at him from across the room and didn't move, so Shane sighed and scooped her up, disappearing into his bedroom.

Ryan stuck his hands in his pockets. "Cute dog," he said.

"Thanks! I think we'll keep her." 

"Cute roommate, too," Ryan said, clearly fishing. He'd never really gotten the impression that anything was going on between Brendon and Shane, but it didn't hurt to check. 

"Not as cute as yours," Brendon shot back, which... touché. Brendon giggled and gestured to two beanbag chairs set up in front of a pretty big television, Playstation controllers nearby. "Mi casa es su casa, Señor Ross. Sit. Want something to drink?"

"Whatever you're having," Ryan said, settling into one of the beanbag chairs. Brendon nodded and ducked into the kitchen, coming back a couple minutes later with Red Bulls.

"It's a little early to break out the vodka tonics," Brendon said.

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Next you're going to say it's too early to get hookers."

"Do you even know me? It's never too early for hookers."

Ryan laughed and picked up a controller without being asked, then let Brendon beat him in Gran Turismo. Well, let was a broad term. Brendon basically annihilated him without breaking a sweat.

"Schooled! Five to one, suck on that," Brendon declared, throwing down his controller just as Ryan's Sidekick started vibrating.

_forget about me? or are u still asleep at 4? lazy should adjust to my timezone._

"Who's that?" Brendon asked, reading over Ryan's shoulder.

"Jon Walker," Ryan said. He checked Brendon's reaction, and Brendon didn't disappoint.

"You've been hiding Jon Walker from me? Chicago Jon Walker?" Brendon stuck his lower lip out. "And after I gave you one of my Red Bulls, too. Okay, so it's actually Shane's Red Bull but my point still stands. You should share."

Ryan grinned. "You could have come along last night. Jon's teching for The Academy Is... again. We had fun after their set."

"Oh, _well_." Brendon grabbed Ryan's phone and texted back _u cant hav him hes mine_.

Less than a minute later: _what?_

Ryan started laughing, but stole his phone back. _never mind that. bden + phone = weird. want me to pick you up?_

_ys pls. bored and siska got something stuck up his nose._

"You doing anything in..." Ryan glanced at the clock on Brendon's cable box. "Two hours?"

Brendon gasped. "Are you ditching me for Jon Walker?"

"Only for two hours. Come over to see me and Spence."

Shane wandered out again, looking disgusted as Dylan bounced back into the living room and started mauling a couch pillow, violently shaking it from side-to-side with her teeth.

"Any luck?" Brendon asked.

"No," he said dourly. "My next dog is going to come pre-trained. Or robotic. That'd be neat." Shane went into the kitchen.

"So, will you come over?" Ryan asked once he was out of earshot.

"Yes. Yeah, I'd love to. It'd be cool for us to..." Brendon cut himself off suddenly, looking nervous. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself."

There was a horrified shout from Shane in the kitchen. "Fucker, you drank all of my Red Bull! I'm stealing back my stash as soon as your guard's down."

Brendon shot Ryan a paranoid glance, but Ryan shrugged. "Well, you can bring that, too, if you want."

"Uh."

Ryan raised his eyebrows, hesitated for half a second, then leaned in to kiss Brendon. It was quick but not without intent, which he hoped got across to Brendon. Judging by the look on Brendon's face when Ryan pulled away again, his grip still tight on Brendon's biceps, it had. "It's cool, Brendon, seriously. I'm a changed man."

Brendon touched his mouth. "Obviously."


	3. Chapter 3

Jon looked so excited and relieved as he got into Ryan's car that Ryan almost wanted to pat him on the head. He knew what it was like to tour with TAI, and it all must have been too much, no matter how much Jon liked them. Hell, Ryan liked to sneak away from his band sometimes and he _loved_ them. He swallowed down the pang of loneliness that rose up.

"Sweet, sweet relief," Jon said, flopping against Ryan's passenger seat, closing his eyes, and smiling wide. That was good. Ryan couldn't possibly be depressed with that next him.

"Will Siska's nose ever be the same?" Ryan asked.

Jon groaned. "Hello, you've just named the subject of the next TAI TV."

Ryan laughed. "Well, I'm at your service, Mr. Walker. Where do you want to go today?"

"Somewhere with greasy food that's bad for me but that in an hour will make me feel like I didn't eat at all," Jon said, then after a moment's consideration, "and not a lot of tourists."

With a salute, Ryan pulled into the street. Tacos were the great cure-all.

*

"Think you've got enough food there?" Ryan said, gesturing at Jon's tray.

"I like a place that can keep its combo meals consistent."

That was Jon all over. Ryan clearly remembered the time Jon had gotten into an argument with a kid at Subway for changing the cheese on the sandwich he'd ordered without asking first. Jon smiled a lot, never raised his voice, and it was completely terrifying.

"Never come between..."

"A man and his stomach," Ryan finished. "I know."

Jon laughed in disbelief. "You know a lot, Ryan Ross."

Oh. Right. Ryan kept forgetting himself around Jon; he knew so much, but Jon didn't know that he knew. It was a strange thing to consider. He changed the subject.

"How's this tour? Are you guys almost done? I haven't really been keeping up with anything," Ryan admitted.

"Almost over. I'm glad. I miss my mom, and my cats, and my pizza. You know how it is -- you spend all of your time at home wishing you were on the road, and all of your time on the road wishing you were at home."

Ryan nodded. "I think musicians are masochists."

"Do you ever miss it?" Jon asked. He was watching Ryan closely. Then Ryan's Sidekick buzzed, saving him.

_im home & bden was waiting outside. said he couldnt wait another hr. did u see jon?_

"It's Spencer," Ryan said, tapping back _ys hes with me now keep bden busy till im home_

_o i will :D_

Ryan widened his eyes. It seemed like Spencer was even more on board with this idea than Ryan had previously thought. That was good. Ryan swallowed, trying not to think about the things Spencer might be keeping Brendon busy with.

When Ryan looked up again, Jon was watching him with half-lidded interest. That was good, too.

"Is Spencer okay?"

"You can find out yourself if you come home with me." Ryan felt a little shy all of a sudden. It occurred to him exactly what he was orchestrating here, and it was still so new and weird to even contemplate. But he was sure about this; he was even sure that other Ryan felt the same way. "Do you want to come home with me?"

Ryan caught Jon shifting in his seat, noticed him leaning forward more. "Yeah, I think I can handle that."

"As long as you're sure," Ryan said, swiping Jon's nachos.

*

Jon was a lot more relaxed when Ryan drove back home later, all easy grins and slapping out a rhythm with his flip-flops against the soles of his feet, foot drumming along with the radio.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Ryan said, clapping his hand on Jon's shoulder. "Do you really think I'd impose you on _Spencer_ without knowing it was okay first?"

"From what I remember about you and Spencer, you don't have a death wish," Jon said thoughtfully. "So I guess you're telling the truth."

Ryan let Jon into the house and threw his keys on the table in the hallway, walking into the living room with Jon a few steps behind.

Brendon and Spencer were making out on the couch. Ryan let out a squeak. Okay, so Spencer was confirmed as being totally on board with Ryan's idea, which was great only Ryan hadn't explained _anything_ to Jon yet, let alone _that_. Brendon exclaimed, "Ryan!" but Spencer just grinned lazily at him, his hand tight around Brendon's wrist, keeping Brendon from getting up.

Ryan spun away abruptly and shoved Jon back. Based at the surprised look Jon shot Ryan, he hadn't seen Brendon and Spencer.

"What the hell?" Jon said.

Ryan panicked a little. "Okay, question."

"Shoot."

"Do you want to jam with us tonight? Brendon's over, too."

Jon laughed. "Is that all? Yeah, that'd be cool."

"Great. Another question."

"Shoot," Jon said again, this time with accompanying confident fingerguns.

"Do you ever fool around with guys?"

Jon's eyes went wide, and he started spluttering, so Ryan grabbed his shirt and kissed him, pushing him against the hallway wall. For just a second, Jon's hands fluttered uselessly against Ryan's elbows, but then he melted into it, his mouth parting enough for Ryan to touch the tip of his tongue to Jon's.

"Yeah, okay," Ryan said, once they broke apart and Ryan loosened his grip. "That answers that."

"Fuck," Jon said. He was panting.

"Last question."

"Oh." Jon cleared his throat and tried to compose himself. "Uh, okay."

"If we walked in there and found Spencer and Brendon making out, what would you do?"

Jon whimpered a little and slumped against the wall.

"Good. I thought so. Okay, questions done." Ryan smirked. "I hope you're hungry again."

*

Brendon looked really freaked when Ryan and Jon finally came out of the hallway, but Spencer jumped up and led a still dazed-looking Jon away so quickly that Ryan wasn't even sure where they'd gone. Probably for the grand tour, which would take all of five minutes.

"Hi," Ryan said cautiously, like he was approaching a frightened animal.

"I'm not even sure how that happened," Brendon said, still breathing heavy. "Or any of this has happened. One minute I'm cutting hair and busy being mad that my former life was so much awesomer than my current one, and occasionally cursing you out to great satisfaction, and the next I'm cutting _your_ hair and kissing you and... and..."

"Spencer," Ryan said. "It's okay; I'm not mad about that. I kissed him in a towel last night," he added helpfully.

Brendon made a whimpering noise that very closely resembled the one Jon had made the in the hallway.

"You or him in the towel?"

"Me." Ryan grinned. "So, um, if I tell you something, do you promise not to freak out too badly?"

"I make no promises," Brendon said, shaking his head hard, "but if you don't tell me, I'll freak out worse than those videos they showed in health class about what happens to kids on angel dust."

Ryan laughed, he couldn't help it, but Brendon shot him a dark glare so he put up his hands in defense. "Okay," he began, scooting closer to Brendon on the cushion, "do you remember that time we all watched _Freaky Friday_?"

"Lindsay Lohan or the original?"

"Whichever," Ryan said. "That's entirely not the point."

*

When Spencer and Jon came back, Jon looked calmer though his mouth looked suspiciously red and wet, and Spencer looked pretty smug. The only thing Ryan felt was a little bit let down that he didn't get to witness it.

But he would. He would _a lot_ if this all went as planned.

As for Brendon, he had been a little disbelieving at first (where definitions of disbelieving included lots of arm punching and shoving and shouts of "nuh- _uh_!"), but eventually he came around to believe Ryan's story.

"That does explain the hair," he had mused thoughtfully once Ryan had finally gotten the facts through his head.

"Oh, come on," Ryan had replied. "It just wasn't right that I stuck with that look for so long."

Spencer made Ryan help him with food, this assortment of little appetizers wrapped up in dough.

"And Doritos," Spencer said, sighing and shoving the bag against Ryan's chest. "As requested."

Ryan smiled. "Come on, Spence, Brendon's holding and I think you bought all of the alcohol in Nevada if that fridge is to be believed. We're going to _need_ these Doritos."

"Brendon's _holding_? You sound like a cop in a bad seventies chase flick."

"That's where I get all of my groovy slang," Ryan said, bumping his hip against Spencer's. "Ten-four, good buddy, you made out with Jon Walker instead of giving him a tour of the house."

"Roger that." Spencer grinned. "You have a hallway kink, if Brendon and Jon aren't lying."

"Walls, actually," Ryan said easily. "Ten bucks says we walk in on Jon with his tongue down Brendon's throat."

"That's a sucker's bet," Spencer said. "Do I look like a sucker, Ryan?"

Ryan snorted. "Yeah, you do. Too bad I won't get to find out if this works."

He meant that, but only kind of. What he was really thinking was he couldn't wait to get back to fix things with _his_ band, and that it felt really satisfying to give what he had to himself somewhere else. Ryan only hoped that he -- the other him -- wouldn't be so stupid to turn down the gift and end up in the same situation.

*

As it turned out, Spencer would have won the bet had he taken it, but it would have only been on a technicality. Jon and Brendon weren't kissing, but they were earnestly singing songs from _The Lion King_ to each other, complete with clasped hands. They were up to "Hakuna Matata."

Ryan shook his head and smiled fondly. How had he ever been so blind to all of this? That would teach him to ever take anything -- any of them -- for granted ever again.

"Did you bring your guitar, Bren?" Ryan asked, setting down his tray on the floor next to Spencer's. Brendon beamed at him.

"Two of them! And a bass. And a harmonica and my recorder from third grade, just for the hell of it."

"What, no empty gin jug and washboard? How are we ever going to be Emmet Otter's Jug Band now?" Jon asked, grinning as he popped open the bag of Doritos. Ryan flicked a victorious glance Spencer's way before ducking into his room to grab his acoustic. Spencer stuck out his tongue in reply.

They ate and played a song, something simple, just a crappy cover of a Tom Petty song, Spencer teasing Ryan about his late introduction to classic rock. Then they all split a twelve-pack of Bud Light and two bottles of wine.

"Piss water," Spencer complained, making a face at his first sip of beer.

Ryan nodded emphatically, moving his fingers along the frets of Jon's guitar while Jon strummed. "Can't you drink something _good_ , Jon?"

"You have no appreciation for great American beverages," Jon said easily, shot-gunning his can.

"I appreciate them, Jon Walker," Brendon said sympathetically. He stole the bottle of merlot from Ryan and drank straight out of it.

"I knew you would, Brendon." Jon stopped strumming to pat Brendon's head. "You're the only one who really _gets_ me, you know?"

They played a couple more covers, broke out the hard liquor, and laughed when Spencer angrily told them all that acoustic percussion sucked ass.

"Don't you like your shaker?" Brendon asked, taking it from Spencer to shake it in his face.

Spencer batted Brendon's hand away. "I hate that shaker and all it stands for."

"But the tambourine is an underrated instrument," Jon said.

" _So_ underrated," Ryan agreed right away, blinking heavily. His fingers were all tingly. "Jon you are a smart, smart, smart, smart guy. Smart. And very pretty."

"Pretty?" Jon looked at Ryan, amused.

" _Very_ pretty," Ryan said, once more with feeling.

Brendon pulled Shane's stolen and guarded stash from his pockets next, and Jon was right there with extra rolling paper and a lighter. Spencer promptly stole Jon's lighter and got fascinated with flicking it on. Ryan shook his head at Spencer's pyromania, but stole it back and took two long hits in a row when Brendon passed him a joint. He offered it to Spencer.

"You get the lighter back," Ryan said when Spencer didn't take them.

"Um," Spencer said, suddenly looking a little shy.

"Oh," Ryan said. He got it right away. "No, this is easy. Do you want to?"

Spencer shrugged and nodded. "I guess I won't know if I like it if I don't try."

"So many D.A.R.E. classes forgotten," Ryan said, grinning lazily. He was feeling happy and loose-limbed and wanted everyone to feel as comfortable as he did. "Okay, come here."

Spencer crawled over, a red flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose from some mix of alcohol and embarrassment, and Ryan took another deep inhale and held it, passing the joint back to Brendon.

Then he beckoned Spencer with his finger, closing the last bit of distance between them to breathe into Spencer's lungs. When Spencer sucked a breath in, Ryan sat back and watched, heavy lidded. Spencer exhaled in a cloud of smoke.

"Whoa," Spencer said, looking dazed.

"Whoa," Brendon echoed from behind. "Ryan, hey, I haven't ever done that either."

Ryan smirked. "Ask Jon for help. I think he's an expert."

Brendon turned wide, sincere eyes on Jon. "You should help me, Jon Walker. I'm inexperienced and need lots and lots of help."

"Oh, I see," Jon said and laughed. Ryan didn't blink once as Jon grabbed Brendon's wrist and leaned in.

More covers morphed into stupid fake songs about Jon's flip flops and how soft Spencer's beard was in contrast to Ryan's sharp elbows, then Brendon started playing "Lying..." while keeping his eyes carefully on Spencer and Ryan, and Jon picked up the bass part.

"You should join our band, Jon Walker," Brendon said a while later when they were all stretched out on Spencer and Ryan's rug. "As long as real Ryan isn't a gigantic douchebag still."

"He won't be," Spencer assured him, stretching to lace his fingers with Brendon's. "Do you want to be in our band with real Ryan? It'll be awesome."

Jon was nodding, his hair making quick _shush_ ing noises against the rug. "Yeah, yeah, I like you guys, I like the real Ryan." He pushed his fingers into Ryan's hair.

"Not him," said Brendon and Spencer.

"Not me," Ryan agreed, yawning and warm. "I already have a you. A them. An us."

"Then who are you?" Jon asked.

"I'm a Ryan from another dimension, sent to make sure you joined the band and loved them forever," Ryan said sleepily, crawling around and making a pillow out of Jon's stomach. "But you guys are going to be perfect, I promise."

Jon giggled. "Okay, Ryan, whatever you say."

"M'not kidding. Forever is a long time. We want to keep you..."

*

"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, _RyanRyanRyan_ , Ryan, Ryan, Bo-Byan! Hey. Ryan!"

Ryan rolled over and a beam of sunlight stabbed him in the eye. "What the hell?" he groaned. "Go away, Brendon."

"No."

"No?" Ryan cracked one eye open to see the curtain of his bunk pulled back, Brendon kneeling next to it and grinning like he'd just consumed all of the caffeine in the world.

Wait. Bunk. Fuck. Yes!

Ryan sat up and hit his head on the bottom of Jon's bed. Fuck. Ow.

"Poor baby," Brendon said, pushing his way into Ryan's bed and making him shove over. He kissed the top of Ryan's head. "You deserved it for acting like an ass last night."

"Last night?"

Brendon made an offended noise. "My mouth is not that forgettable, Ross. I resent the implication, but I'll forgive you. Today is a new day, and I don't know if you know this, but Spencer and Jon and I have made a _pact_. We're going to make sure you come around to thinking the way we do no matter what because this is the best thing that's ever happened to any of us and I, for one, am not going to let you--" Ryan rolled on top of Brendon and kissed him, mid-speech, a real kiss with tongue and a hint of teeth, even though he'd just woken up and the inside of his mouth still tasted sour. "-- um."

"You were saying?" Ryan asked, rolling off of Brendon again.

Brendon yanked a pillow out from under Ryan's head and hit him with it. "You kissed me!"

Ryan blinked. "Yeah? I'm probably going to do it again later."

"Oh," Brendon replied, still looking a little out of it. "Really? Then. Uh. You probably should brush your teeth?"

"Okay," Ryan said agreeably and climbed out of bed. Today was going to be a good day. He just had a feeling.

*

"So hypothetically," Ryan said, reaching over to steal Spencer's Lucky Charms. They weren't banana pancakes or cheesy eggs, but they were still chock full of vitamins and sugary marshmallow goodness.

"Hypothetically?" Spencer stole the box back when Ryan started picking through for marshmallow bits. "Stop that, you're eating all the good parts."

Ryan made grabby hands for him to give it back, and lost the ensuing glare battle. He sighed and coped with a bowl with an almost unacceptable cereal to marshmallow ratio. "Yeah, I _know_. Hypothetically, if I had a dream that made me get on board with this whole forever thing..." And here Ryan felt Spencer freeze next to him. "...what would you say?"

"I'd wonder if you'd hit your head," Spencer replied, though his voice was very small. And hopeful. Ryan definitely detected hope there.

"I did," Ryan agreed. "But that was after." He got up from his chair and walked around to Spencer's, straddling Spencer's thighs.

"Ryan..."

"This dream was sort of awful. We were still a band, and we made it big, really big, but Jon had never joined the band and I punched Brent on stage. We broke up and I was doing nothing with my life."

Spencer was watching him carefully. Ryan grabbed both of his hands and placed them carefully on his own hips. He bent his head and tugged Spencer's bottom lip between his teeth, then licked, leaving Spencer's mouth a little swollen.

"I fixed us, though," Ryan said, sitting back. "I fixed all of us and got us Jon, too. You made me pancakes and we all made music together. And I think we all lived happily ever after."

"That sounds like a nice story," Spencer said. He tilted his head back and Ryan ran his fingers down the column of his throat.

"It was," Ryan said, and bent his head to lick exactly where his fingers had just been, "but our story is even better."

Spencer groaned and arched up.

*

"Jon Walker," Ryan said and Jon was smiling, smiling, smiling.

"Brendon told me."

Ryan smiled, lopsided. "Told you what?" he asked innocently, but Jon was too quick for him, striding over and wrapping his arm around Ryan's waist before Ryan had a chance to blink.

"That you _love_ us."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far..."

Jon hugged Ryan, then tilted his chin up just enough to look Ryan in the eye. The familiarity, the friendship and more that flashed through Jon's eyes was such a relief and so integral to all that he was that he almost couldn't believe he'd lived without it for two days.

"If I told you that I had a dream where I lost you and found you again, would you believe me?"

"Yes," Jon replied, kissing the corner of Ryan's mouth. Ryan turned his head just a fraction, enough to catch Jon's mouth. He squeezed Jon's waist. "I believe that you found me again," Jon went on.

"That dream let me know that I'll always find you."

Jon smiled, smug. "I already knew that."

"Sap. Did you remember that tonight was a hotel night?" Ryan asked.

Jon raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised you noticed. Sometimes I'm pretty sure that the only people who know our schedule are Spencer and Zack."

"I checked. Tonight is." Ryan leaned up against the wall and tilted his hips. "Don't you think that'll be nice?"

"Yeah," Jon breathed, though he seemed more aware of Ryan's mouth and the line of his body if where his eyes were going was any indication. Ryan understood the inclination; Jon had a nice mouth. "Real beds and real showers, first time in a long time."

Not for Ryan, but it wasn't fair saying so. "One big bed?"

Jon laughed. "If you want."

"I want to keep you," Ryan said. "That's what I want. I'm never losing you, okay?"

" _Whatever_ you want, Ryan Ross."

*

"I have a good feeling about tonight. Do you have a good feeling about tonight?" Ryan asked, clutching a Gatorade bottle as Zack led them into their Meet and Greet.

"I have a feeling that I'll be the last line of defense between you and a million teenage girls, and that I'm going to have a headache before the night is over. A big one -- king size, at least half a dozen Advil's worth."

"Yeah, but do you have a _good feeling_?"

"What is my life?" Zack groaned and kicked out a chair for Ryan. Ryan offered him his Gatorade to keep the peace.

The signing went well. At least Ryan thought so, reaching down to squeeze Brendon's knee under the table when he thought no one was looking, or when he'd casually drop his arm over Jon's shoulders during fan photo after fan photo, his other arm stretched far enough to put his hand on Spencer's. All three of them looked a little dazed, which Ryan supposed was understandable; he'd been catching them whenever and wherever he could on the bus and at the venue, casual kisses when they weren't expecting it, more serious ones crowded into dark corners.

It was probably a little weird for them how fast Ryan had changed his mind, but it wasn't just that. He'd had his doubts erased when he had to go so long without _his_ Brendon, _his_ Spencer, _his_ Jon.

When they played that night, Ryan tried to turn every action into another way of making sure that the three of them got it. With Brendon, there was no such thing as personal space. They shared the microphone, mouths close, and played their guitars at each other. Ryan would lean over and whisper promises into Brendon's ear when they weren't anywhere that their voices could be amplified. With Spencer, Ryan kept turning toward his riser to check in with his best friend, to get his approval, to take a drink or talk or try and make Spencer laugh, only turning back when Spencer beamed back at him, the sight of his grin making their fans go insane. With Jon, Ryan stared across the stage, traded lines at each other, stomped over to Jon's little rug and dropped to his knees, mid-song.

Which, Ryan realized not long into their set, was the same as always.

It was the same as always, but there was so much more _there_ now. It was obvious to him, a whole waterfall of revelation, lock after lock undone now. The crowd screamed; the crowd fucking loved them. _Ryan_ fucking loved them and he couldn't stop smiling.

*

They almost ran off-stage that night, the anticipation and adrenaline at an all time high.

"What are we doing tonight?" Spencer asked, his arm around Ryan's waist, looped over Jon's. Brendon tried to leap on all of their backs at once.

Ryan smiled. "Don't you already know?"

*

Hotel night started off pretty much like always, with all of them playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who got first shower, ordering bad room service, and running between two adjacent rooms to paw through their bags. The only difference tonight was they'd requested that one of the rooms have a king size bed instead of two separate ones. Zack looked pained when Ryan told him.

"It's just --"

"I don't want to know."

"But it's not --"

Zack held up a hand. "You don't have to lie. Just don't ever tell me. Ever. Think of my poor virgin ears and eyes and every other virgin orifice I have, AKA all of them."

Spencer scrunched up his nose. "Ew."

"Yeah," Zack said, nodding, "maybe that was a step too far."

But underneath that normalcy there was this thrumming nervousness running through all of them. Ryan could sense it in himself best, of course, the swooping sensation in his belly feeling like a million butterflies escaped from their nets just to take up residence inside of him, but he could also sense it in the way Spencer kept leaping up to adjust the air conditioning, Brendon kept laughing at anything remotely funny and jiggling his legs, and the way that Jon came out of the last shower having magically produced a bottle of Jack Daniels and demanded that they all have a drink together. They all scrambled to get glasses while Jon poured, then downed everything on a count of three.

That broke the tension nicely. It was _them_. Like Jon had said the other night...? Last night...? It was inevitable. Ryan guessed he could say it was a reinvention if he thought too hard about it, but that was seriously too pretentious even for him.

He got rid of that thought by putting down his empty glass and kneeling in front of Spencer, who was sitting in an armchair. "Okay, who wants to see me kiss Spencer Smith?" Ryan asked, seeing two hands shoot into the air out of the corner of his eye. Spencer laughed and it was fucking gorgeous, and then he leaned down to kiss Ryan and that was something else entirely.

Spencer put his hands on either side of Ryan's face, tilting up his jaw and kissing him slowly, licking into Ryan's mouth. He tasted like whiskey and he easily turned Ryan's insides to jelly. The kiss was a serious one, like Spencer was trying to tell him that now that they'd reached this point, they finally had all the time in the world. It was just another extension of their silent communication, another level of it, one that they both needed to reach. Ryan thought he was close to losing his mind; it felt like it gave off sparks and overloaded when Spencer slid off the chair to kneel with Ryan on the floor, and things only got worse (better) when Brendon wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist from behind, Jon's chin hooked over Spencer's shoulder.

"Save some for us," Brendon complained, but it was barely a whine, just deep, low syllables against Ryan's ear. He couldn't help groaning when Brendon bit down, the tip of his tongue tracing around Ryan's ear and down the side of Ryan's throat, Spencer's hands working open the buttons on Ryan's vest and shirt, making noises of complaint about the number of them.

"You like my buttons," Ryan gasped as Spencer undid the last one, the one at the waist of his pants and pulled the zipper down, pushing his fingers beneath elastic waistband. Ryan shuddered and moaned, dropping his head down, his own fingers tangling with Jon's on Spencer's shirt, which was about the time that they collectively decided they'd better get on the bed.

They all grabbed at each other's clothing with the pure intention of helping, but it was all so frustrating. Ryan got angry with Brendon's t-shirt for not disappearing by the sheer will of his mind, and Spencer made it look like he wanted to claw Jon's jeans off instead of just pulling them off like a normal person. It was such a fucking hassle to get rid of _Spencer's_ jeans, no matter how good he looked in them. But a good mattress and a big bed and mouths and hands and so much skin, skin, skin helped. God, did it help. Ryan spent almost too much time staring, his breath catching every time he spotted something new. He found himself breathless a lot.

Of course Ryan had seen all of them in various states of undress over the years; that was something that just happened when you shared a sleeping bag, a van, a tour bus, hotel bathrooms, tiny venue showers, all the little places where a person could be caught at his most vulnerable. But it was nothing like this. That was more inconvenience than anything; there was no comparison at all. How could any of that compare to Jon's eyes closed, moaning into Ryan's mouth when Brendon's fingers wrapped around Jon's dick and stroked like he was a new instrument to learn? How could that stand up to Spencer pushing Brendon back on the bed and pressing kisses to his throat and collarbone, down his chest, and finally pushing Brendon's legs apart to suck his cock between his pretty lips? How could that compare to Ryan crowding up behind Spencer when Spencer had to pull off of Brendon, muttering apologies about how he'd never done that before, Ryan telling him that none of them had, not really, not in a way that counted, rocking hard against Spencer's ass and placing wet kisses along his spine?

"God," Jon breathed, right near Ryan's ear, as Ryan moved his hips in a slow circle. "This is... I don't really get..."

"What?" Ryan asked, watching as Spencer tried again, dipping his head to lick a wet path up Brendon's cock. Brendon threaded his fingers in Spencer's hair and begged Spencer, any of them for more.

"Just... I'm really lucky." Jon pushed his hand between Ryan and Spencer's bodies and curled his fingers around Ryan, Ryan throwing his head back and gasping. How could Jon even say that? Wasn't it obvious that Ryan was the lucky one here? There was no way he was supposed to have so much good in his life, and yet here he was. Jon grabbed Ryan by the arms and pushed him onto the bed, right next to Brendon, whose expression was open and wanting. He looked as shocked as Ryan felt, seeing Spencer's hair fanned out over his stomach. It was so hot to see, too, Brendon's cock sliding between Spencer's lips, swollen red and spit-slick.

"Spencer, Spence," Brendon chanted, sounding halfway out of his mind. Ryan gripped Jon's wrist with one hand, following the rhythm Jon was setting up on Ryan's dick, and twisted his upper body just enough to kiss Brendon hard, a dirty wet slide of lips and tongues, both of them groaning into each other's mouths until Brendon started shaking so much that Ryan could feel the tremors through his own body.

He broke the kiss. "Spence, Brendon's gonna come. You did that to him." Jon, Brendon, and Spencer all gave little moans in unison at hearing that, and even though Ryan knew his voice sometimes had that effect on people, he'd never heard it three times over. Brendon shook, trying to squirm away but Spencer held fast to Brendon's hips.

Just as quickly as Brendon had started shaking, he stopped, freezing up, every muscle in his body a visibly tight coil. " _Fuck_ ," he choked out and his hips jerked once.

Fuck, thought Ryan, pushing up into Jon's hand. Fuck, fuck, _yes_.

Spencer pulled off with a gasp, sounding like he'd just held his breath underwater for too long, and swallowed hard. Jon leaned in right away, his hand never faltering on Ryan and licked into Spencer's mouth. Ryan couldn't help staring because he couldn't do anything else. In fact, he was pretty sure his brains had leaked out of his ears.

"Ryan, oh God," Brendon panted, burying his face against Ryan's neck, "is Jon licking my come out of Spencer's mouth? How fucking hot is that, seriously?"

"Hot," Ryan managed, once he regained a little bit of his power of speech. Only the very bare minimum of it, though. "So hot."

"So are you," Brendon went on. "So very hot. The things I want to do to you, have you do to me." He had his hand over Jon's on Ryan's dick and they were both jacking him, fast, fast, faster. "Would you fuck me if I wanted? It'd be so good, I can tell. God, your cock..." Then Spencer's hand was on his leg, too, trailing over his hip and between his legs, too light brushes of his fingers. Ryan still could only half-believe this was happening.

Spencer stopped touching Ryan and licked his own fingers, making sure everyone was watching, like anyone could look away, and moved behind Jon to wrap his hand around Jon's dick, matching every stroke of his own fingers to the Jon and Brendon's. Ryan couldn't help it, with everything going on all around him. He gripped the sheets, held tight to Brendon, and came in hot streaks across his stomach and chest, opening his eyes to find Jon doing the same.

"Shit," Jon gasped, his knees buckling as he tumbled down on Ryan's other side. "I'm sorry, Ryan, didn't mean to... Spencer's hands..."

"It's okay," Ryan said, once he'd caught his breath. "More than okay. Don't apologize for that." He grabbed Brendon's shirt and used it to clean himself up, ignoring Brendon's soft "Hey!" of protest.

Jon sighed and pressed closer. Ryan smiled and kissed his forehead.

"Okay," Ryan said, eying Spencer and smirking, "who wants to see me go down on Spencer Smith?"

This time three sets of hands shot into the air.

*

Exhaustion eventually set in, and they all stretched out as much as they could across the bed, which wasn't really that much at all. Legs overlapped and their bodies had no choice but to press together as closely as possible. Not that Ryan minded that. He felt safe. Calm. Spencer was quiet in sleep as always, his mouth open. He was drooling a little. Brendon was snoring, his arm flung out across Ryan's chest. Jon was still awake, though, his eyes thoughtfully trained on Ryan.

"What are you thinking about?" Jon asked finally.

Ryan smiled a little. "The weird dream I was telling you about. Do you think it was real? That it could be, I mean? Or is my subconscious just that fucked up?"

"Anything's possible," Jon murmured back, trailing his fingers up and down Ryan's arm and leaving goosebumps even with three bodies giving off warmth all around him. "I've seen some pretty weird shit in my time. Like I heard there's this band that got famous, then took in some sleepy Chicago kid, and now they all fuck like bunny rabbits. Weird, right?"

"Like bunny rabbits? Wow." Ryan shivered again as Jon's touches got more deliberate. "But I kind of hope it was real. I hope that their Ryan figured everything out the way that I did. They needed him as much as he needed them. Just like us. I'm sorry I'm slow, but messing up the best thing that's ever happened to me would be such a mistake."

"This isn't a mistake."

"I know. It doesn't seem like one. It's..." Ryan trailed off.

"Right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then you know," Jon said, sounding satisfied. "You figured it out, and even though you're slow, we love you anyway. I think I'll keep you around."

"Eat me," Ryan shot back, but he was smiling.

**END**


End file.
